Dinner and a Drive with Diane Chambers
by Flock of Waa-Waas
Summary: This is set in early season one, just as Sam and Diane are getting to know each other... and feel comfortable arguing with one another. Sam offers to drive Diane home after her shift, and she finally accepts, only to be coerced into having a fast food meal with him as well. Will their late-night conversation lead to something more?


**A/N: Hello! Here's a fic I based around the song "I Volunteer" by Glenn Frey. Glenn was one of my favorite musicians, so I've been listening to his music a lot since he passed away. Inspiration for a Sam and Diane story struck while listening to his 1982 album** ** _No Fun Aloud_** **, so I hope you like it!**

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Since the very first night that Diane donned her Cheers waitressing apron, the handsome, but sometimes unruly bartender, Sam Malone, would offer her a ride home in his Corvette. She had managed to turn him down for two weeks straight, but she was beginning to feel like she was finally giving in to his... charms? If you could call them that. She figured that his pungent cologne was putting her under a spell, much like carbon monoxide poisoning would.

It was an early Saturday morning, closing time fast approaching, and everyone else had gone home. Diane cleared the last of her tables while Sam cleaned the used mugs in the sink behind the bar, and posed his usual question, just like clockwork.

"So, is tonight the night you'll take a ride with me?"

She stepped closer to the bar and tossed him a cleaning rag. "Not a chance."

"And... what's your reason this time?"

"It's late, I'm exhausted, and I want nothing more than to curl up in bed with a good book before I go to sleep."

"Ever heard of _The Book of Samuel?_ " He questioned, shooting her a sly grin. "I've heard that he likes to curl up in bed."

"Curl up and die, I hope," she snapped back.

"Someone's been spending too much time with Carla."

She didn't say anything. The truth was, taking a ride home with Sam was beginning to sound more inviting than taking the late bus, which was usually jam-packed with unsavory characters, back to her apartment building. But, if she agreed for Sam to drive her home, would she arrive at HER home, or would she find herself sprawled out naked in his bed the next morning?

She realized she couldn't let her mind drift to such places, especially when the man she was thinking about in such a way was her employer. Sometimes Diane wondered why she was so endlessly attracted to the men she worked for: first Sumner, and now Sam. She made a silent agreement with herself that she'd bring up that fact at her next therapy session.

She was shaken from her reverie as Sam rattled on.

"If you take the bus, I'll be home already by the time the bus gets to the stop. You'll be home sooner if you go with me. And, it's safer."

"I doubt it," she mumbled inaudibly, later adding, "I enjoy taking the bus." They both knew that that was untrue.

He let out a small chuckle. "Oh-kay, Diane. Sure you do. Now c'mon and get your coat. I'll take you home."

By the time she opened her mouth to argue, he was hopping over the bar in a single leap, with her purse in hand. He was about to hand it over to her until he pulled it back, and made a run for the door.

"What are you doing?!" She exploded. "Give me my purse!"

"You'll have to catch me!" He said with a laugh that simultaneously annoyed her and made her smile. "Be sure to lock the door before you come up!"

She rolled her eyes as she clicked the lock, and made her way up the stairs. The thought of calling the cops and saying that Sam stole her purse crossed her mind on the way up. At least she wouldn't have to deal with his advances anymore if he was behind bars. She chuckled at the thought as she found his cherry red Corvette parked in its usual spot out front, and Sam was already in the driver's seat with the engine running. She opened the passenger side door and glared down at him.

"Purse?" she snapped.

"Get in, sweetheart," he said with a sly grin.

With an exasperated huff, she sat down beside him on the leather seat, and closed the door behind her. He pulled the car away from the curb and they drove into the night.

He fiddled around with the radio dial, so much so that Diane was about ready to grab the wheel and scold him for driving inattentively. He finally landed on a rock station that played a song that was cluttered with guitar licks and she immediately disliked.

He must've turned his head to see her disgusted expression, because he immediately asked: "What? You don't like rock 'n' roll?"

She shook her head. "No, not really."

He turned the radio off again as they continued on. "So what do you like?"

"The classics..."

"Oh, like Elvis and Dylan and the Beatles? Okay, I get that."

"No," she interrupted a little more snidely than she intended. "Those are rock artists. I don't listen to rock. I'm talking about composers like Bach and Chopin."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. But I don't think that Bach could've written the guitar riff on 'Hotel California.'"

Now was her turn for an eye roll. "No, he sure couldn't."

The car fell silent for a few moments, until Sam chimed in again.

"You want something to eat? I'm starving."

How could the man that's always eating something behind the bar at Cheers possibly be hungry? she thought.

"I should be getting home..."

He turned to look at her. "But are you hungry? I'll buy!"

She turned away to stare at the street as they drove. She knew that Sam Malone, notorious "babe hound," wasn't going to take no for an answer. Her purse was still in his custody, dangling off the door handle of the driver's side door, so the bottle of pepper spray inside it wouldn't do her any good if he started to get handsy.

"We can stop somewhere," she conceded. She couldn't imagine where they could possibly be going at this time of night. Wherever it was, she could bet it wasn't high-class.

"Good. Norm told me about a good all-night diner right off the highway called Eat."

Diane groaned slightly in disapproval.

"What? Is that not 'classy' enough for you?"

"No, not at all, Sam," she chided. "I've just never been to a restaurant that was named after a verb."

"I think your type of people have things all wrong. I mean, what's wrong stopping at a diner real late at night, having a burger and fries and maybe a shake, and having enough money left over when you're done to go see a movie or something?"

"Excuse me? What, exactly, is 'my type of people?'"

"You know, high society. You can't just go out and enjoy yourselves unless you pay the amount of my salary to go eat dinner or something."

"Well, that's not me," she snapped. "I live on the wages I get from working in your bar, no matter how wealthy my parents were."

"It's not just that. You always talk about going to the theatre, and going places to look at art, and going to the opera. Rich people stuff."

"Are you calling me a snob, Mr. Malone?" she asked with an inquisitively cocked eyebrow.

"No, not at all," he covered. "But if you grab the remote on a Sunday afternoon when football is on so you can watch some lady screaming in another language, I might just have to go to the PBS station myself and chop down their antenna towers."

She just let the silence hang thick in the air again. She knew that Sam Malone would never be the type to appreciate the arts, no matter how many times she tried to coerce him. Just as she'd never take an interest in sports. Even if she was slightly attracted to a tall and handsome former athlete.

They finally made it to the parking lot of the all-night diner, where a turquoise-and-magenta glow was cast upon them from the flickering neon sign that did, in fact, proclaim that the greasy spoon was simply called EAT. There were two other cars parked in the lot, probably belonging to the waitress and cook, Diane assumed.

Sam was tugging on his door handle before she asked, "When am I going to get my purse back?"

He untangled it from the handle, and held it within her reach. As she tried to snatch it away, he quickly snapped it back. By the way he was grinning, she could tell this was all just a game.

"You want it back? Take it!" he teased, holding it out again. She finally just gave up.

"Sam Malone, I am NOT in the mood for games! If you want my purse that badly, I'll let you wear it for the evening! I just never thought it would fit in with your jock strap persona!"

"Jock! JOCK!" he corrected with a tinge of anger. "Now you're not getting this back at all."

Before she could say another word, he was out the door with her purse slung over his shoulder, chin in the air, strutting away.

"What are you doing?!" she cried. This man had obviously lost his mind!

"I'm _Di-ane Chambers_!" he mocked her in a shrill voice. She started to run after him without abandon.

"SAM! I'm going to KILL you!"

He took off running for the door, and by the time she caught up to him, he was already inside the restaurant. A stern-looking, middle-aged waitress was standing behind the counter, ready to seat them.

"Booth or table?" she asked gruffly, her eyes tired.

"Booth. For two _ladies_ ," Sam said, still doing his best impersonation of a woman. Diane stomped on his foot to get him to shut up.

The server just glared at them before leading them to a clean booth next to the windows. She tossed a couple of menus on the table, and rushed off to get glasses of water.

"Sooo, what are we having?" Sam asked her. "In the mood for burgers or pancakes, or what?"

Diane just shot daggers at him from across the table, trying her best not to smile at his childish behavior. It would only reinforce it, just like a toddler. But he looked so damn _cute_ doing it!

He had cast his eyes downward to the menu, so she did the same. There was nothing on the menu that looked appetizing to her, and the waitress was already approaching the table, ready to take their order.

"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger plate, no onions, please. And a chocolate malt," Sam said, handing back the menus.

"And for you?" the waitress asked, turning to Diane.

"I... uh... I'll have the same," Diane stuttered. The server jotted the order down, and dashed away to the kitchen.

"Wow, a bacon cheeseburger for Miss Chambers, eh? I'm impressed!" Sam enthused.

"Yes, well, I didn't know what to order, so I copied you."

Her eyes drifted back out to the parking lot, with his cherry red Corvette glistening under the neon mixed with moonlight. She had to admit that it looked like a scene straight out of the 1950s, and she was enjoying herself, as much as she hated to admit it. It wasn't so bad, sitting across from a stunningly attractive man...

"She looks sexy out there, doesn't she?" she heard him say.

"What? Who?"

"My 'Vette. She looks gorgeous, all shined up in the moonlight like that."

When she turned to look at him, she immediately noticed that he was curiously rummaging through her purse.

"What are you doing?!" she yelled as soon as she noticed him taking out her small booklet of photographs. "Put those back!"

She lunged across the table, almost dumping ice water all over him, and was able to pull her handbag away from him, but the booklet was still left in his hands.

"Sorry, I was just wondering what women keep in these things. That thing must weigh 20 pounds!" he said, his hands up in feigned innocence.

She checked through her belongings to make sure he didn't have anything else, as he flipped through the book.

"My god, you still have a picture of that goofy professor in here?" he questioned with a high-pitched laugh that almost sounded womanlike.

"Give it!"

He was smiling down at the photo of Sumner smiling smugly in front of the Eiffel Tower. He didn't even notice that Diane was now clutching her butter knife like she wanted to stab him in the jugular with it.

"Jeez, you've got a lot of pictures of yourself in here, too." He flipped a few more pages. "And a lot of your cat and your pony..."

"Stop it. Let me see what's in your wallet then, hmmmm?"

He pulled his leather wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the table. "Here. Go wild."

He was still chuckling to himself about her pictures as she flipped open the wallet. He had some cash, credit cards, his driver's license, and... an unwrapped condom with a small hole poked through the center?

"I hate to tell you, Sam, but you're going to be paying out a lot in child support if you use this one," she said with a giggle.

"No, no, I'll never use that one. It's just a... superstition. When I was growing up, my dad heard from someone that I was messing around with the school crossing guard. So as a sick joke, he left this and a note tacked to the bulletin board in the room I shared with my brother."

"Oh my, what did the note say?"

"Something about always using protection. I think it was just a test to see if I was as smart as Derek to not take the condom."

"So... you took the condom?"

"Yeah, but just to scare him a little. And for months afterward, I'd keep mentioning grandkids to him, and boy, would his face get red!"

He laughed loudly as he leaned back on the bench seat.

"But you said carrying this thing around was superstition?"

"Yeah, I've had it in there for years. As long as I've been carrying it around, I've never gotten a girl pregnant."

Diane rolled her eyes. "Charming."

With that, their meals finally arrived, and Sam was the one that immediately began to dig into his cheeseburger, with pickles, ketchup, and grease already dripping onto his hands and plate. Diane patiently picked up a fork and knife, and began to cut her sandwich into equal portions. Sam noticed, and immediately set his burger down.

"What are you doing, Diane?"

She glanced up at him, and tried not to notice the ketchup dribbling down his chin. "I'm eating like an adult."

"You don't eat burgers with a fork and knife! You've gotta eat 'em with your hands! It's the only way!"

"It makes no difference at all! And I'd rather not slop my dinner down the front of my shirt!"

"Diane, you've gotta get messy, or it's not any fun. It's just like making love!"

She scoffed. Now there was an image. Diane would now have to try harder to keep thoughts of her fantasy with Sam at bay for the rest of the meal, and hopefully those fleeting ideas of nights of passion would soon pass. If she kept thinking these things, how would she be able to face him when he handed out the paychecks on payday?

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 **A/N: (Edited 5/13/16) I have decided to leave this fic as a oneshot, at least for now. If something comes to mind for a second chapter someday, I'll be sure to post it.**

 **Oh, and the comparison of eating a cheeseburger and making love was also a Glenn Frey-ism that I noticed and just had to include, in case you were wondering. :)**


End file.
